


Kiss Away My Sins

by afaithfulwriter890



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Slow Build, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:06:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afaithfulwriter890/pseuds/afaithfulwriter890
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carol always thought she was worthless; Ed's miserable, useless wife. All her life, she has endured horrible abuse from her husband. She wants out, but was never brave enough to take the chance. Then, during the apocalypse she meets a taciturn hunter that might just be her knight in shining armor. </p><p>Daryl Dixon watches the silver-haired woman every day. He notices the bruises that everyone else overlooks. He knows what it's like to get beat. He knows what it's like to feel worthless and abandoned. And he'll be damned if he stands by and lets that happen to someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

 

            “What the fuck did I just tell you, bitch?” Ed snarled, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.

            Carol fumbled with the buttons on her shirt, trying to distract herself from the yelling. She didn’t respond to him, but just stared down at the dry earth beneath her feet.

            She heard him approach, but remained motionless, her heart pounding. The last thing she wanted was another beating, but, of course, Ed never cared about what she wanted. “I said to get the fuck over here! I’ve been lookin’ for ya for how long now?” he growled. Carol flinched as he spat on her shoe. “You’re a useless, whore, you know that? You can’t even listen to yer husband when he’s talkin’ to ya!”          

            “I am listening…” she mumbled, still not raising her eyes to his.

            “The hell ya are!” he snorted. Without warning, she felt his hand seize her chin. He yanked her head up so she had no choice but to look at his ugly face. Once upon a time, that face had awakened joy within her; she had looked at it with love and affection. Now, it only brought her a mixture of fear and disgust. She bit back the urge to wrinkle her nose as she caught a whiff of his revolting, stale breath.

            _God, what had I been smoking when I married this asshole?_

“Where’s my goddamn shirt? I told ya I wanted it clean tonight,” Ed told her, spitting a glob of God-knows-what on her shoe.

            Carol had a smart remark planned out in her head, but restrained herself from voicing it. She didn’t feel like getting hit today. Plus, she knew better than to ask why it was so important. She just looked down submissively, fighting to control the inner feminist that was just dying to kick his fat, ugly ass. “I’m sorry. I’ll go get it ready right now.”

            “Good,” he grunted. His anger seemed to be dying down now, much to her relief. She tried to act tough and defiant—she tried to make it seem like he didn’t have too great of an effect on her—but it was a mask. In all honesty, Ed Peletier terrified her. Carol liked to think that one day, she’d throw down her damn laundry basket and tell the fucker to do it himself. She liked to think about walking out on him and taking her sweet Sophia with her. But they were fantasies; dreams that would never become a reality. The Carol that she wanted to be and the Carol that she was were two entirely different things; she wanted to be brave, intelligent, sarcastic, and independent, but, in reality, she was anything but that. She was a bag of used goods; a housewife that got beaten at almost every turn.

            And, only to add salt to the wound, Carol had brought this upon herself. From the beginning of their relationship, she’d seen the signs, and she chose to ignore them. She knew he had a temper and that he could be a bit of an asshole. Yet, she stupidly agreed to marry him. She walked down the aisle wearing white and let him put his ring around her finger. She let him take her back to their hotel room, and she allowed him to steal her innocence from her. They went through a semi-decent newlywed stage before everything fell apart. Ed adopted the habit of drinking, and came home with a fury that Carol had never encountered before. He’d come home, demanding sex and getting it by whatever means necessary. That was how Sophia was born. In one of his drunken stupors, Ed had seemed to forget about the concept of condoms and wasn’t lucid enough to think of the consequences.

            When Carol discovered she was pregnant, she cried for days. It was bad enough that she had to suffer through this sorry excuse for a life, but now a child would have to experience it as well. That child would have to grow up watching its mother get mercilessly beaten, and possibly raped. No one deserved that. For a while, Carol contemplated abortion. She hated the thought of killing the baby inside her, but didn’t want to condemn it to a life of pain and suffering. After much reflection on the matter, Carol determined that she loved her child more than anything in the whole world, and knew that she had to give it a chance.

            Things didn’t turn out as badly as Carol had predicted; to her relief, Ed had mellowed down a great deal after Sophia’s birth. He wasn’t really _gentler_ , but he hit her less often. The best part for Carol was that her husband’s sex drive had also decreased. Ed told her that after the pregnancy, her body wasn’t the same anymore, and that sometimes, it disgusted him. Any other woman who heard their husband say that would break down in tears, but Carol was practically doing backflips of joy.

            However, not everything was wonderful. Ed still beat her—he seemed to do so more after the beginning of the apocalypse, as if it were somehow her fault—and would occasionally break a rib or two. But, by far, the worst thing was that with each passing day, as Sophia grew into a young woman, Ed’s eyes began to rest on her for long periods. Every now and then, Carol would catch him giving Sophia—his own daughter—a hungry, lustful look.

            She hated him.

            She hated him with every fiber of her being.

            He could beat and rape her anytime he wanted, but when he went after her little girl, he was asking for a war. Carol would die before she let anything happen to her Sophia, and, with Ed being the way he was, dying might be exactly what it takes.

 

* * *

 

             Carol knelt by the pond with the other women, wringing out one of Sophia’s shirts. For the most part, they were all silent, Andrea and Jacqui occasionally breaking the silence with an amusing comment, or just some statement that all the women agreed and identified with. Lori was to her right and Miranda to her left. Carol unraveled the wet glob that was her daughter’s favorite t-shirt and laid it down on the rocks beside her.

            “So,” Andrea said, breaking the silence. Whenever Andrea spoke, it was almost as if the women’s incentive to work disappeared. Carol sometimes smiled at the thought. “There are _a lot_ of guys up in the quarry.”

            Jacqui giggled. “What are you goin’ on about, now, Andrea? Your latest romantic endeavor? For the love of God, please spare us.”

            A few of the other women chuckled. Carol just smiled furtively before dipping one of Ed’s shirt into the water.

            “No, I was gonna ask if any of you guys have your eyes on one a’ them. That way, I’ll stay away and let you try your luck,” Andrea replied with a small smile.

            “They ain’t gonna all flock to you, Andrea,” Miranda replied deviously. “You ain’t the only good-looking female in this group.”

            Carol let out a small laugh at her friend’s boldness. “Miranda’s right. You might have competition this time.”

            Andrea snorted and rolled her eyes. “Please… But anyway, who are you guys lookin’ at? I know Lori’s had her eyes on Shane for… oh… how long now?”

            Lori’s face flushed. “It’s… it’s nothing. I mean… He saved my son and I back in Atlanta after Rick…” she trailed off, her face becoming forlorn.

            Carol watched her solicitously for a moment before giving her arm a friendly, reassuring pat.           Whether Andrea actually noticed Lori’s change in demeanor or chose to ignore it was unknown. “Alright, so I guess that Shane is crossed of the list. How about Jim?”

            Jacqui only wolf-whistled in response.           

            Andrea laughed. “Alright, Jim belongs to Jacqui now… What about… How ’bout those two brothers? The ones that live in the woods? They’re a little… separated from the others, but they’re still a part of the group.”

            “The ones with the motorcycle?” one of the others asked.

            “Yeah! Those ones… What are their names?”  
            “I know one of them’s Merle,” Miranda said casually.

            Carol became disinterested at the mention of Merle’s name. From what she’d seen of him, he was just a racist, sexist, womanizing, motorcycle-riding, drug-taking redneck. Carol knew there was another with him—a little brother she heard someone say—but Carol had never met him.

            “What’s the other’s name?” Andrea demanded, sounding irritated that she couldn’t remember it.

            “I think it started with a D,” Lori offered. Carol shot a glance over at the skinny woman beside her. Lori’s face was still solemn, and her voice was oddly hoarse.

            “Daryl!” Andrea cried with triumph. “That’s it! Daryl Dixon!”


	2. Chapter 2

            “Why don’t you do us all a favor and shut yer damn mouth, Dixon?!” Shane shouted, throwing his hands up in the air.

            Daryl shifted his weight nervously, shooting cautious glances at his brother. He knew that Merle was fuming—no one ever talked to either of the Dixon brothers like that unless they had a death wish. “If I were you, I’d watch yer ass, pretty boy,” Merle growled. His voice wasn’t loud or grating like Shane’s, but even and frighteningly dark.

            No one fucked with Merle Dixon.

            Ever.

            “I don’t need ta watch nothin’, ya fuckin’ redneck!” Shane squawked in response. He took a bold step toward the brothers, his hands clenched into fists.

            Daryl instinctively raised his crossbow and aimed it at the cop’s head. “Ya take one more step and ya get an arrow between the eyes,” he warned.

            The police officer faltered for a second, doubt flashing in his onyx eyes. Moments later, it was replaced by rage. Daryl held his ground, knowing his aim was accurate; if Shane took one more step toward Merle, it’d be the last thing he ever did.

            When Shane made no move, Daryl jerked his crossbow toward him, indicating for him to move back. “Now, back the fuck off.”

            Shane let out a guttural growl before whipping around. He stalked off toward the RV, his body rigid as he struggled to control his anger. Daryl watched as he barged into the camper, slamming the door behind him.

            With a sigh, the hunter lowered his crossbow and looked at his brother. Merle was smirking, his arms folded casually across his chest. After a few seconds, he looked at Daryl, a stupid grin breaking out on his face. “I didn’t mean to put his panties in a bunch.”

            “Fuckin’ hell, Merle!” Daryl hissed, slinging his bow over his shoulder. Without another word, he began to stalk back to their secluded camp, his own anger now boiling just beneath his skin. It was bad enough that Merle was an ass to everyone they came across, but did really have to ruin all their chances of being around people?

            He knew his brother was following, probably just waiting to snicker at Daryl’s annoyance. He didn’t care—not anymore. There was a time when Merle’s words sliced through him like a knife, but know, they slid off smoothly like water off a duck’s back. He wasn’t a little kid anymore that looked to his big brother for everything; he was his own man now, and he had a thing or two to say to Merle.

            They reached their camp relatively quickly, faster than usual since Daryl was practically jogging through the woods. He leaned his crossbow up against one of the logs they’d set up around their fire pit, and then turned toward his brother. Merle was just emerging from the undergrowth, his demeanor completely relaxed. It just made Daryl angrier; he stood there a few more minutes, glowering at him and trying to decide what he should say first.

            Merle broke the silence as he let out an exasperated sigh. “ _What,_ baby brother?” he groaned, rubbing the back of his head with one of his hands. “Ya gon’ give me hell for puttin’ that pussy in his place?”

            Daryl let out an irritated growl. “Yeah, I am! Ya can’t go around fuckin’ wit people like that! It’s gonna come back and bite us both in the ass, and ya know that! We can’t fuck this up, not now! The fuckin’ dead are walking out there, and—”

            “And we’re bein’ led by some pussy wearin’ a badge,” Merle snorted, folding his arms across his chest. The older Dixon leaned up against the stump of a nearby tree. “We should do it now. Get it over with, and then get the hell out.”

            “We can’t. Ya know that. We don’t even know where they’re keepin’ all the good stuff,” Daryl answered grimly.

            “Don’t tell me ya’re backin’ out!” Merle said, shoving himself away from the tree and starting toward him with narrowed eyes.

            Daryl watched his brother warily. He instinctively reached for his crossbow, but Merle’s hand darted out and grabbed his wrist. “Are you?” Merle asked darkly.

            The hunter suppressed a shudder as he shook his head. “No.”

            “Good,” his brother allowed, dropping his wrist casually. “If yer so worried about finding everythin’, talk ta someone. Figure out where everythin’ is and then we can take it one night and be on our way.”

            As Merle turned away, Daryl felt his stomach twist with guilt. Merle was his brother—the only family he had left in the world—but those people didn’t deserve what they were planning. From the beginning, Merle’s plan had been to find a group of survivors, gain their trust, and then steal them blind. At first, it had seemed like a good plan—they’d get food, meds, and whatever else they needed with very little work. But now that they were going to try to pull it off—now that they were with a group of people fighting for their lives, Daryl had come to hate the idea. He thought of the kids—what happened if one of them got sick and the group didn’t have medicine to take care of them because he and his idiot brother had stolen it?

            “What’s tha matter, Darylina?” Merle sneered, sitting on the long next to his brother’s crossbow. “Ya ain’t goin’ soft, are ya?” he laughed.

            With a sigh, Daryl shook his head. “No… I ain’t goin’ soft.”

            “Then what’cha thinkin’ ’bout so damn carefully?” he inquired, pulling out a knife from the sheath attacked to his belt.

            “Nothin’,” he lied.

            Merle chuckled in response. Daryl watched impassively as Merle admired the blade in his hands. “We can do this,” he said, half to himself. “We can pull this off. And we’ll… stop anyone that gets in our way.”

            A shiver went up the younger brother’s spine as he thought of what Merle really meant. From the day he’d been born, Merle Dixon had been one tough son of a bitch. He had a reputation of being a drug addict, a womanizer, a racist, and a hard-ass in general, but he had never been labeled a murderer. Yet, as Daryl stood there, staring at the man he called brother, he realized that that may very soon change.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

            Daryl watched as the flames splayed upward as he deposited another log into the fire. Merle had gone to bed about an hour ago, but he wasn’t quite ready to retire just yet. There were too many thoughts swimming around in his brain yet. His mind kept returning to one subject: his mother. What would she say if she saw him now? Would she still love him if she knew that he was going to steal from the people who had welcomed him? How would she react knowing that he was planning to condemn these people to death?

            The hunter let out a sigh and covered his face with his hands. That was when he heard it.

            Crying.


	3. Chapter 3

            Carol walked back to her tent, holding her basket of clothes under one arm.  The sun was just beginning to set in the western skies, casting an array of colors across the sky. Oranges, reds, yellows, pinks, blues, and even purples, were splashed across the sky as if by an artist’s hand. Birds trilled their songs in the canopy overhead, sending a wave of serenity over the gray-haired woman. She was oddly content out in the forest. Here, she was far away from the anger of her husband and the stress of the apocalypse. Here, things felt… almost normal. It was as if the world had not ended, and almost all of the people she loved and cared about were dead, or undead.

            When she reached the camp, she was greeted by Lori. The younger woman gave her a friendly wave before walking over to Shane. The police officer was emerging from the RV with a scowl on his face. Carol watched with mild interest, wondering what had happened to make him so upset. As she walked by, she overheard what Shane was saying.

            “Damn rednecks,” he muttered, rubbing his head tiredly. “Think they can come in here and run the fuckin’ show.”

            Lori rubbed his arm sympathetically. “I know, but it’s just the way they are. They’ll come around.”

            Shane snorted. “I dunno if I want ’em to.”

            Carol, not wanting to make her eavesdropping obvious kept walking until she was out of earshot. She had no doubt who Shane was talking about: the Dixon brothers that Andrea had mentioned earlier down by the pond. Carol had had little to no contact with them, which she was glad for. From what she’d heard, they were two rugged, uneducated rednecks that were only in the group because the younger brother was a pretty good hunter. All she really knew about them was their names, and that the younger one was a hunter and older one was a racist, sexist, and a drug-addict on top of that.

            They were certainly not the kind of people that Carol would ever associate with.

            Even though there were more than enough reasons to persecute the two brothers, Carol felt a little guilty doing so. She never did like judging books by their covers; she didn’t even know Merle and Daryl Dixon that well. Maybe they were just as bad as they sounded, or maybe there was something more. She didn’t know, and she probably never would. She had never even made eye contact with either of the brothers let alone spoken to them.

            Carol pushed the two brothers from her mind, knowing it was useless to continue that train of thought. She went over to a small copse of trees where the women had hung fishing line between the branches, creating a place to hang their clothes to dry. Setting the basket on the ground beside her, Carol began to hang up her family’s clothes, taking pleasure in the domestic task. It was just another activity that kept her from thinking about the fact that the dead now walked and had an appetite for human flesh.

            She had gotten a little more than half of her clothes hung when she heard someone approaching from behind her. Carol turned, expecting to see Lori, or one of the other women with their own basket. Instead, she saw Ed stalking toward her. The mere sight of him was like a kick in the gut. Carol turned away from him, closing her eyes and bracing herself from the beating that she knew was coming.

            “Ya almost done?” he asked, his voice characteristically tight.

            “Yes,” Carol breathed. She picked up another item of clothing from her basket and gripped it tightly. She tried to hide the tremors that were already plaguing her body. She hated the beatings, then again, who wouldn’t?

            Ed nodded in approval. “Good. When ya’re done, meet me behind our tent,” he instructed. Without even waiting for her to reply, he walked off.

            To any onlooker, it would appear like a relatively normal scene—a husband and wife interacting, and him asking her to meet him someplace, most likely to talk, or perhaps even fool around. But this was not a normal scene, nor a normal relationship. Ed’s request sounded so harmless to anyone else’s ears, but it was agonizing to hers. She knew that he would beat her tonight, perhaps even rape her again. She had quit calling it sex a long time ago; she didn’t want it, and she never gave him consent to do it, but he did it anyway. He held her down and covered her mouth sometimes if necessary.

            Carol slowed her pace, taking as long as she could to hang the rest of the close. She didn’t want to go back there; she didn’t want to go through whatever he had planned. She tried to block out the thoughts of what was waiting for her, and tried to let her mind wander. But it couldn’t. It couldn’t find room to be happy anymore. She couldn’t focus on the birds’ love songs in the trees. She couldn’t think about her darling Sophia. Hell, she even tried to think about the Dixon brothers, but even they were blocked out by her fear of what was to come.

            Carol began to wonder if she would ever escape that fear. She wondered if she’d ever be able to overcome her fear of Ed and leave him. She wondered if she could ever find a new life. She wondered if she could ever find happiness again; happiness with Sophia.

            That’s all she wanted.

            Happiness.

            She didn’t want to be afraid anymore.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

            Carol had waited as long as she could, but now she could no longer avoid it. After tucking Sophia into bed, she entered the woods behind her tent. Ed had left a small, but distinctive trail for her to follow, so even in the shadows of the dense forest where even the moonlight could not seem to penetrate, she would know where to go.

            She found her husband leaning up against a tree, and his hands in his pockets. “Ya took yer damn time,” he commented before spitting on the ground in front of him.

            Trying not to grimace, she shrugged. “Lori… Lori said she needed my help with making dinner, and then I had to tuck Sophia in… I’m sorry I’m late. I tried to get here quickly.”

            He snorted. “I bet’cha did.”

            She didn’t reply. Her heart began to pound as Ed started toward her, pulling his hands out of his pockets. Carol’s body tensed as she braced herself for his attack. The blow came hard and fast to her ribcage, making her stagger. She knew from the strength of the punch that it was his right hand; he’d hit her so much that she had learned to tell the difference between his fists. She let out a hiss of pain between her teeth as she struggled to keep from doubling over. Pain erupted like a volcano on her left side; she knew she’d have one hell of a bruise there the following morning.

            “Ya’re a fuckin’ liar, ya know that?” he growled.

            When she didn’t answer again, he hit her right in the gut. Left hand this time; it wasn’t as strong of a hit. It was still more than enough to send her to the ground. She clutched at her abdomen that now felt like it was on fire. Tears were in her eyes, blurring her vision. She wanted to cry out for help. She wanted Ed to be stopped. She didn’t want to go through this again.  

            Ed grabbed her by the arm and roughly yanked her to her feet. “I ain’t gonna get down on my fuckin’ knees ta hit ya, ya stupid bitch!” he snarled before backhanding her in the face.

            Carol cried out, and fell to the ground once more. The familiar taste of metal flooded her mouth as she realized she’d bitten her lower lip. She spat out the blood, her body trembling sobs that were rising in her throat. She yelped as Ed’s foot collided with her side, sending a new wave of pain throughout her body.

            Ed kicked her over and over until she was certain that _at least_ one of her ribs was broken. After what seemed like a century, his assault finally concluded. “Next time, ya come when I fuckin’ tell ya to, got it?!” he roared. He gave her one final kick before storming off, leaving her to find her own way back to the camp.

            She waited a few minutes so she was sure that he was long gone before she began to test her limbs. Her arms and legs seemed fine, but her torso hurt like all hell. Her lip was throbbing from where she’d bitten it, and her face ached from where he’d hit her. She couldn’t go back to camp like this. She couldn’t let Sophia see her like this.

            Her body trembled as she painfully pulled her knees up to her chest. Thinking that no one would be able to hear her, Carol began to sob uncontrollably. The sounds of her pain echoed throughout the forest, drowning out the rustling of animals in the undergrowth, and hooting of owls as they left their nests to hunt. They were the only ones that would hear her. They were the only ones that would know her anguish.

            Little did she know, the animals were not the only ones that would hear her.

            Nearby, a hunter sat by his fire watching the dancing flames. He too heard her cries, and, out of pure curiosity, decided to investigate. 


	4. Chapter 4

            Daryl walked through the woods in utter silence. He knew how to tread quietly when he wanted to; he was almost good enough to sneak up on a buck without it even having an inkling of his presence. He crept closer in the direction of the sobbing, being careful to not disturb any leaf litter, or step on any twigs.

            He knew by the sound and volume of the sobs that it was definitely a woman. Of course, he had already guessed that—he wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, but he knew that most of the men in camp would never go out in the middle of the forest to cry like a baby. Then again, he hardly knew those men any better than any walker he’d killed. For all he knew, those men could cry every day.

            Originally he’d hoped that, as he got closer, he’d be able to determine whether or not the crier was in pain. This wouldn’t be the first crying woman he’d found, and usually, he could tell if they were crying from pain. More often than not, he’d hear an “ow” or “help” if they were injured. This one didn’t have any words in her sobs, just incoherent mumblings.

            Daryl had one hand on the knife at his belt as he approached, prepared to draw it from its sheath at any moment. That particular night had been one of those extremely rare events that Daryl Dixon forgot his crossbow. He’d been so eager to find whoever was out in the middle of the forest in the middle of the night, that he’d left it beside the fire _. I’m lucky as hell that I always carry my knife,_ he thought before shaking his head. _Ya’re a fuckin’ idiot, Daryl! Ya can’t go runnin’ off like that without takin’ precautions! Merle’d skin ya if he found out what ya did tonight!_

Even in the dark, it didn’t take him long to find her. She was huddled on a small game trail, her face buried in her hands. Her body heaved and shook whenever one of the sounds ripped from her throat. She wasn’t loud, but there was a force—a real pain behind each and every cry she let out. She wore a baggy, gray sleeveless shirt and an old pair of brown capris, but she made it look… oddly elegant. Beads of sweat glistened on her face and neck, and some of the longer strands of her silver hair clung to her damp skin.

            Daryl’s eyes ran over her body, looking for any visible injuries, mainly bites. Maybe she had been wandering around out here, got bit and was not crying about it. His grip on his knife tightened at the thought. Of course he didn’t want to kill the poor woman, but if she was bitten, there was nothing he could do. He took another step forward, narrowing his eyes to get a better look. Her body was speckled with the little moonlight that could filter through the dense canopy, making it hard see specific details. Lost in his own thoughts, he forgot to look where he was going.

            _Snap!_

A twig buckled under his weight, the sound echoing in the silence of the night. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!_ The woman let out a fearful gasp and shrunk away from the sound. She looked up and immediately spotted him in the shadows.

            Daryl’s breath hitched as he locked eyes with her. Her eyes were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen in entire life. They were like twin crystals, gazing up at him. Even though they were still filled with tears, they had a light in them—a fire that Daryl recognized and understood. The light was so bright, it made her eyes shine, putting every single star in the sky to shame. Although her face betrayed her mortification and anxiety, it still retained beauty. Daryl allowed his eyes to move from her eyes, down to the soft lines of her cheeks, to her small, pink lips that were slightly parted, and then to her long, graceful neck.

            He stared at her, breathless, and entranced. He’d seen this woman before—in the camp with the other women, but he’d never paid much attention to her. Merle had commented on her once or twice, calling her a mousy woman that “scurried about, afraid of her own shadow”. Daryl had just nodded lazily, not really paying attention to, or caring about his comment. He wished that Merle had mentioned her name. That way he could talk to her, comfort her, tell her everything would be—

            Daryl stopped himself mid-thought. What the hell was he thinking? He was Daryl fucking Dixon and this was just some sad woman in the forest! He had his own problems to deal with, and yet he was thinking about _comforting_ her?! The _last_ thing he needed was to worry about her, yet why did he?

            He pursed his lips in irritation and tried not to scowl at the woman before him.

            It made no sense.

            It made no fucking sense.

            “I’m… I’m sorry…” the woman whispered, averting her eyes to the ground. “I…” she paused, being cut off by her own sob. “I know I should be… be out here… but… but… I… I….”

            Daryl’s stomach twisted as her little composure crumbled. He began to feel a little awkward standing there in the darkness like some creep, so he stepped out onto the little trail. Without thinking, he crouched down so he wasn’t towering over her and watched as she cried. He desperately wanted to speak to her—offer her some words of comfort—but he couldn’t. Daryl could fight off a horde of walkers, fix any motorcycle, take apart and put back together any weapon, but he didn’t know a damn thing about women, or how to talk to them. In fact, he didn’t know much about humans in general.

            All his life, he’d been a loner—sticking to the outdoors and his solitude. With no mother for the majority of his life and an abusive, alcoholic for a father, Daryl pretty much raised himself. What he didn’t teach himself, Merle taught him. That meant that everything Daryl knew about how to socialize with other people, how to treat a woman, and how to be a productive member of society all came from Merle Dixon.

            _No wonder I ain’t got no friends,_ Daryl thought with bitter amusement.

            After a few minutes, the woman seemed to get herself under control. She took a deep, shaky breath and looked up at him. “I’m sorry… Really, I am.”

            “Quit apologizin’,” Daryl answered gruffly. “I ain’t condemnin’ ya.”

            She nodded quickly and looked down again. That was when Daryl noticed the slight discoloration of her face. One side looked a bit redder than the other, almost as if she’d been hit. “What ’appened there?” he asked softly, gesturing to her face.

            Her eyes widened as she looked up at him. Instinctively, she hugged herself, hiding her abdomen from view. “It’s… nothing.”

            Daryl didn’t believe that for a second, but nodded. “Who are ya and what are ya doin’ out here this time ’a night?”

            “C-Carol,” she choked out, tears reappearing in her eyes. “My name is Carol.”

            He smiled grimly, already hating seeing her cry. “Howdy, Carol. I’m Daryl Dixon. Now, tell me what happened, and don’t bullshit me. I know yer hurt, and I wanna know why.”


	5. Chapter 5

            Carol stared at the redneck hunter with wide eyes. She knew who he was—who didn’t?—but what she didn’t know was why he was there, and why he was concerned. It seemed so uncharacteristic of Daryl Dixon to take interest in a mousy woman like her. In her mind, she wasn’t anything special; in fact, she was average _at best._ Her breasts were too small, her hair too gray, and, in her opinion, her eyes always looked sad and dull. Why did he care about her?

            “I… I…” she stammered, struggling for the right words. What could she possibly say? Certainly not the truth; Ed would murder her if she told anyone about what he did to her. She wanted to—she did, but it was her fear of her husband that kept her silent. _He’d be absolutely livid if I told anyone…_

            “Well?” the hunter inquired, arching an eyebrow. The gesture made him look devilishly handsome. “Ya gonna tell me, or am I gonna have ta get ya ta talk?”

            Carol shivered at the thought of how exactly he would accomplish that. His thick Southern drawl made her skin prickle even more. She knew one sure-fire way— _No,_ she thought, closing her eyes for a split second. _Stop this Carol. You’re a grown woman for the love of God, not some silly teenager who thinks the first attractive man they meet is gonna sweep them off their feet! Get a hold of yourself!_ “It’s none of your business,” she told him, surprised by her own boldness. _You’d think a domestic violence victim would be timid as fuck,_ she thought with little amusement. _If only Ed heard what went on in my head..._

            Daryl blinked in response. “I think it is when ya’re puttin’ me an’ my brother at risk by bein’ out ’ere, attractin’ walkers!” he snapped. His harsh tone made her flinch. She stared at the ground, not daring to look at his face. She could hear the bubbling rage in his voice already. _Damn it all, Carol. Now look what you’ve done! A guy’s tryin’ to help you, and you screw it up!_

            For a moment, she contemplated apologizing. Getting on her knees and begging to be spared a beating never worked with Ed, but it might work with this redneck. Just as she was about to open her mouth to do so, she saw his legs move. The hunter stood very slowly and took a few steps back.

            “‘S’all right. I ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he whispered. If she didn’t know he was there, she would have easily believed that he was just another shadow in the darkness.

            _He must have noticed me flinch…_ she thought, still not looking at him.

            “Is that why yer out ’ere?” he queried. “Ya gettin’ hit?”

            Carol bit her lip, and refused to meet his eyes.

            Daryl Dixon was quiet for the longest time. After what seemed like an eternity, he turned away from her, and vanished into the forest. Carol pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. He knew the truth now, and God only knows what he was going to do with his newfound knowledge. What if he told Shane? Carol knew that Lori and the other women knew what went on between her and Ed, and they had all offered their help. She had turned all of them down, saying that they would only make it worse. If Daryl decided to tell Shane, the former cop would surely start something—anything to show his authority. He might even physically threaten Ed, and if that happened…

            Carol shuddered at the thought.

            _Would Ed kill me?_ she wondered. She knew it was possible.

            The snap of a twig made her nearly jump out of her skin. Her head jerked up, and she locked eyes with the hunter. At first she was confused. _He… came back…?_ Daryl stared into her eyes for a moment, his own glazed over with sympathy, and something that looked like personal pain. Carol was the first one to break their gaze, and allowed her eyes to wander. She noticed that he held something in his hand - some kind of plant… a flower.

            “It’s chamomile. Ya crush it up and put it on yer bruises. It helps the pain, and helps it heal faster,” he explained. Daryl stared at the ground, as he awkwardly offered her the white flower.

            Carol took it hesitantly. “Th… thank you…” she whispered, wishing she could see the expression on his face.

            “Yeah,” he grunted before retreating back into the woods. He looked like he was gonna leave her, then, but stopped. “Ya need help back ta camp?”

            She shook her head quickly. “N-no… I can manage.”

            He nodded. “It yer husband?”

            She didn’t answer him then.

            Her silence seemed to confirm his suspicions. He clenched his hands into fists and set his jaw. Carol felt slightly scared, but slightly turned on by this gesture. Yet, she didn’t understand why he was so upset. Why does he care so much?

            “I…” Daryl spoke, not meeting her gaze. “I… I could kill ’im.”

            Carol stared at him in shock. Was he actually offering? The thought of a life without Ed Peletier seemed too good to be true. She would never have to be afraid again… never have to worry about him touching Sophia as she got older. She could raise her daughter in peace, and maybe find a nice man with a good code to settle down with. But, she couldn’t accept his offer. She had no idea what his motivation for asking was, and she didn’t really want to know. For all she knew, Daryl could betray her and tell Ed that his wife wanted him dead.

            “Why?” she asked, surprised at how her voice sounded. She didn’t sound scared, or horrified at the suggestion, but genuinely curious.

            Daryl blinked. “Why kill ’im, or why am I offerin’?”

            “Why are you offering?”

            The hunter hung his head for a moment, studying his shoes. Carol was sure he wouldn’t answer, but he did. “I jus’ know how it feels ta get beat… And ya don’t need ta go through that shit… That’s all.”

            She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but forced a smile. “Well… Uh… thanks, but no thanks…”

            He nodded, his face void of emotion. “Ya ever need help… ya jus’ give me a holler, and I’ll come runnin’.” A smirk spread across his face. Carol’s heart leapt into her throat. “Ya remember my name?”

            Carol’s fake smile then became real. “Daryl Dixon, right?”

            “Damn straight.” And then he was gone.


End file.
